Reflections of a pilot
by InquisitorVawn
Summary: The Lord-Captain Darrius Duperre's personal pilot examines some of his choices in life.


"Hey, Ysar!"

Sebastian kept his eyes on the dataslate, going over the diagnostics the techpriests had provided after he'd complained of the lander running rough on the drop down to Scathe. They had serviced the fuel lines and fixed some nicks in the trailing edge of the port wing but claimed that otherwise the vessel was in exemplary condition and strongly implied that any shuddering must have been due to operator error. Well it was less strongly implied and more outright stated. He snorted and pushed the report away, leaning back in the chair and folding his arms behind his head, continuing to stare resolutely forward into middle distance and most certainly not look at anyone approaching in the mess behind him.

"… Oh I know you're not ignoring me, asshole." A rude finger shoved him in the ribs, causing him to wince. He continued to ignore the woman as she pulled out the chair next to him and dropped into it, straddling the back and leaning forward to cross her arms on the top of the backrest. For a moment she sat there grinning and staring at him, but when he continued to refuse to engage, she sighed and reached out to snap her fingers next to his ear.

"Hey. Yo. Helloooo. Wakey wakey Lieutenant Ysar!"

Turning his head slowly, Sebastian blinked owlishly at the small, dark-haired woman sitting at his side. He reached up and grabbed her hand, pushing it away from his ear "Gee, I'm sorry Recca. I didn't hear you there. You must have snuck in while I was busy. You simply must to learn to be more assertive or nobody's ever going to notice you."

Snatching her hand back, Recca snorted and flipped up her unrestrained hand in an obscene gesture "Your mum noticed me well enough last night. Anyway. Word's going around that the L-C's going to give a speech. Something about the planet and the heretics and some asshole pilot who nearly got him and his men killed trying to pick them up again. You in for a bev before we hit the fruity deck and go wait for it all to start?"

Recca's eager wide grin was almost painful in its earnestness and Sebastian felt himself starting to grin in response. For a moment he considered accepting, but the idea of crowding into the mass worship session that accompanied speeches by the Lord-Captain didn't really appeal. His neck and head were still killing him after the high-intensity flight down to the planet, darting and diving to avoid anti-aircraft weapons and daemonic creatures alike and he was pretty sure he'd given himself whiplash trying to fly through the city ruins under the targeting-cogitator limits. And if prior history was any indication, any offer for "a bev" with Recca and Cox never stopped at one. A speech by the Lord-Captain would easily be parlayed into a reason for hitting the Snakepit for six or seven – more if he was mentioned by name by the Lord-Captain. No, it would be safer not to attend.

"Sorry Recca, you know there's nothing I love more than ending up puking in a bilge tank with Cox, but I've got to go over these mechanicus reports. They seem to think there's nothing wrong with the bird… 'Operator error' is the exact phrasing I think. And I need to check in with the bridge, I had to swap rosters to go flying. I'll catch the speech on the pictcast."

"Oh, well… I hadn't asked Cox…" Her grin faltered ever so slightly before she mustered it back in force, but Sebastian noted it didn't have quite reach her eyes any more. He wasn't exactly sure what he'd said that had bothered so much, so he tried to mask his confusion by shaking his head and continued "Besides, Horne, the Pit's going to be packed both before and after the speech. You know how the Lord-Captain manages to get everyone in a party mood. How's about we take a check, and catch it when things are a bit quieter."

Recca struggled valiantly to keep her grin in place, nodding "Yeah, you're right. Hey, um. Well as I said, you're right. You know how to fly, you weren't shaking that bird. Good luck finding something to shove up their robes." She pushed back from the chair and stood up, straightening her coat "If you change your mind about the drink, well… I don't need to tell you where I'll be. Later, Ysar." With a snappy salute, she turned on her heel and marched exaggeratedly out of the room, pausing at the door to look back before disappearing into the corridor.

Pushing himself out of his own chair, Sebastian wondered briefly what Cox was up to that meant Recca hadn't asked him yet. It was rare to see the one without the other, especially when drinking was involved. He shook his head once more and grabbed the dataslate, turning to make his own way out of the mess. He was sure Recca would let him know next time he saw her.

The glass of volska sat forgotten on his desk, condensation trickling down to pool around its base. The sound on the pictscreen was relatively low, but that didn't make any difference. He could hear the cheering and hollering, the Lord-Captain's name being shouted up and down the decks outside his door.

It had been easier to lie than admit the truth to Recca. Nobody had questioned where he'd been for the better part a standard year. He sure as hell hadn't admitted to her or Cox or even Daren that he'd been slammed in the brig for refusing the Lord-Captain's command and nearly drawing a weapon on him during the takeover of the ship. If he had, he was sure there was every chance that they would have lynched him themselves.

It wasn't that he hated the Lord-Captain. Well that was nearly a lie; he had hated the Lord-Captain at first. But he'd had entirely too much time to think on his position and the precarious nature of his continued existence while locked in solitary confinement. He'd reflected not only on the events of the takeover but his entire career up to that point. At first he'd felt injured. He'd done nothing wrong, he argued with himself, his loyalty had been to the correct holder of the Warrant, Octus Duperré. But over time the arguments had weakened. The self-reflection had grown stronger. He'd refused to capitulate because he'd liked the status quo under the older Duperré. He'd enjoyed bullying his way into the command throne and lording it over the crew beneath him. Frankly, he'd been a dick. And the Lord-Captain had upset that happy medium, bringing in a competent and ruthless command, and he'd responded out of fear and envy.

When Darrius had finally seen fit to come to the brig, he'd panicked, sure that finally his fate had been sealed and he was about to be marched out of the nearest airlock. When he'd been offered a chance at redemption, his rank and position back on the condition that he'd bend the knee and swear his fealty to Darrius and the new structure of the Duperré dynasty, he couldn't offer his vow fast enough. And despite how he'd felt a year before hand, he'd found himself struck by the fairness of the Lord-Captain, encompassed by a burning urge to prove himself and make his new Lord… proud?

With a sigh he grabbed the glass again and propped his boots up on the desk in its place. Sipping the clear liquid, he grimaced at the burn he felt as it sank down into his stomach. No, he hadn't declined Recca's invitation because he hated the Lord-Captain. He'd declined because he still felt the burn of shame at the actions he'd engaged in and the assumptions he'd made. He still felt driven every day to push himself, to prove over and over again that the Lord-Captain had made the right decision to reinstate him. He still felt that he wasn't worthy of the praise that Darrius was heaping on the crew, and especially not if any of that praise was addressed toward him. Not yet.

So he chose to watch from a distance, locked in his quarters with his bottle of volska and the memory of his own idiocy. Perhaps one day he'd be there, able to lose himself in the flood of adoration that the Lord-Captain inspired. Perhaps one day he'd feel that he'd finally atoned for his sins and actually feel worthy of the praise that the Lord-Captain offered.

Perhaps.


End file.
